


Opportunity

by MsLadySmith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Implied D/S relationship, M/M, Molly's Ringtone Is A Meow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 11:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15994679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/MsLadySmith
Summary: An alternate meeting between John Watson and Sherlock Holmes.This fic was written as a contest entry for the JSE group on FB.  While I didn't win the prize (a copy of Scrivener), I had fun writing it.





	Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to da_petty - thank you for the prompt and the contest!
> 
> Check out her page www. discoverfanfiction. com
> 
> A place for readers and authors. Games, prizes, and more.

“I think you’ll like her, John. You need to get out of the house more, mate,” Mike clapped his friend on the shoulder as they walked through the park near St. Bart’s. John had agreed to meet Mike for a quick lunch, and they were heading back toward Mike’s office now.

“I guess. But, I’m not really looking for a girlfriend, Mike,” John grumbles. “Who’d want to spend time with a broken-down soldier like me?”

“Even if it’s just one dinner, getting to know someone at St. Bart’s could be a good place to start getting back into the thick of it, right? Back into medicine?” Mike smiled at him. “I think they call it networking nowadays.”

John shook his head with a grin. “Okay, okay. You’ve talked me into it. So, take me to meet this bird.”

* * *

Mike and John walked to the office just outside the morgue to find Ms. Hooper working at her desk. “Molly, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, John Watson.” Mike nodded toward John, who walked forward to greet the young woman.

“Hello, Molly,” John reached out to shake her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

She smiled warmly and took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Hello, John. Mike has told me a bit about you. So, you were an Army doctor, were you?”

“Yeah. Invalided home a couple of months ago,” he replied. “Now that I’m back, thought maybe I should look for work. I was hoping maybe we could chat a bit?” John tried to sound hopeful.

Molly nodded. “Sure, sure. Are you busy tonight? I should be done here around 6 or so, unless something comes up. We could meet over at Angelo’s for dinner.”

“Angelo’s? Never been.”

Molly scribbled an address and phone number onto a scrap of paper and handed it to him. “Here’s the address. And my phone number, in case you can’t make it.” John, in turn, wrote down his mobile number and gave it to her. “And mine, in case you get caught up here.”

“Great. See you at 7, then? That should give me time to get home and feed my cat,” Molly smiled at him.

“Sure. See you then.” John turned to leave the office. “Come on, Mike. Your boss is gonna think I’ve kidnapped you.” The two of them laughed as they headed down the hallway.

* * *

“Molly, my dear!” Angelo’s voice boomed out when Molly walked into the restaurant. He wrapped his arms around her in his typical bear hug. Molly squeaked.

“Your gentleman friend is already here – I seated him at a nice table… more private for the two of you.” Angelo gave her a wink.

“It’s not a date, Angelo. A mutual friend sent him to me – he’s looking for a job over at Bart’s,” Molly shook her head.

“Of course, of course,” Angelo replied, with a knowing grin. “But he’s a handsome fellow.” He started to lead her to the table where John was seated.

“He is, Angelo, but we’re here to talk about work. He’s not my date.” Molly said insistently.  
Angelo brought Molly to the table and seated her across from John. “I’ll get you a candle for the table. It’s more romantic, huh?” Angelo left, returning to the table with the promised candle and two menus.

John stifled a giggle at Angelo’s offer of the romantic candle, and Molly’s responding eye roll. “Yeah, he’s been telling me all about you…”

“He’s an old friend of my dad’s. He’s been trying to fix me up with ‘a nice boy’ for as long as I can remember.” Molly sighed. “Sorry if he embarrassed you.”

“No, no, I think it’s endearing, actually. Good to have people watching out for you.” John nodded.

The two of them gave the menu a cursory look, with Molly recommending either the lasagna or the spaghetti Bolognese – both Angelo’s specialties – to John. Angelo returned and took their order, hustling to the kitchen to get it prepared.

“So, what kind of work did you do? I mean, before the Army,” Molly asked politely.

“I did a little work at Mayday Hospital in their A&E department for about a year before I shipped out.” John shrugged. “Then, of course, I did a lot of that sort of work in theatre.”  
“I can imagine. Tough job.” Molly nodded sympathetically.

“Very. Some days were harder than others,” John replied. “I can picture some of those days in my head as clear as if they were yesterday.” A full-body shudder coursed through him. The memories were… unpleasant.

Suddenly, a tall, lanky man with dark curls swept into the room, grabbing a chair and seating himself at their table. “Molly, I need the file on Jennifer Wilson,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Sherlock… a little busy?” she grimaced, glancing at John then back to Sherlock. “And how did you know where to find me?”

“Please, Molly… you know your assistant is easy to get information from when presented with pastries. René knew exactly where you were and…” he glanced at John. “… who you would be with.”

Molly rolls her eyes. “Damn that man... John, this is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Dr. John Watson, a friend of Mike Stamford’s.”

“Resorting to blind dates now? I didn’t think you were that desperate, Molly,” Sherlock chuckled.

“Not a date, Sherlock. John here is —”

“—looking for a job since being released from Her Majesty’s service, and you’re just helping out,” Sherlock finished her sentence with a grin. “Afghanistan or Iraq?” His blue eyes drilled into John.

It took John a moment to find his tongue. “Um, Afghanistan. How did you know —”

“Simple observation. Tanned face but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your haircut and the way you hold yourself says military. The fact that you’re chatting with Miss Hooper about the possibility of employment. Given her narrow scope of influence, that says you have a medical background. Military doctor, then. Thus, Afghanistan or Iraq,” Sherlock concluded with a prideful grin.

John’s retort was halted by the sound of a cat meowing. Molly blushed and pulled out her phone to see who was calling.

“I-I’m sorry, John. It’s work… I kinda have to take this,” Molly said apologetically, getting to her feet. John nodded understandingly, and Molly quickly left the table, putting the phone to her ear just as she stepped away.

Sherlock chuckled as Molly left the room. “It seems your date has abandoned you, Dr. Watson.”

“She told you - not a date, Holmes,” John grinned at him.

“So, you’re not single, then?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he grabbed a breadstick.

“Yeah, I am. You?” John asked. “Bloke like you has got to have women chasing him all the time.”

“I wouldn’t know. It’s not really my area…”

John looked at him in surprise. “Oh?”

Sherlock swallowed a bite of bread. “I consider myself married to my work,” he mumbled, not looking John in the eye.

John mulled over that statement. “That sounds rather dull,” John chuckled.

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Far from it, Dr. Watson.” Suddenly, his gaze snapped to the window, and he jumped to his feet. “Now if you will excuse me, I believe my cab has arrived.” Without a curt nod, Sherlock flew out the door in a flurry of Belstaff, leaving John alone with his lasagna.

A few minutes later, Molly returned to the table, her mood dark. “I’m sorry, John, but something’s come up at work and they need me to come in.”

“It’s all right, Molly. I understand… duty calls and all that.” John got to his feet. “I’m sure we’ll chat again.”

“Definitely,” she nodded, grabbing her coat. She looked around. “Sherlock left?” she asked.

“Yeah, something about a cab, I think he said,” John remarked, then his eyes lit on the blue scarf on the chair beside him. “Uh oh… he left his scarf. I don’t suppose you’d know how to reach him? To return it?”

Molly smiled. “I don’t have time – I have to get back to the morgue rather urgently, and it’s likely to be a late night. Would you mind? His address is 221B Baker Street.”

* * *

The next morning, John paid the cabbie and walked up to the black door of 221 Baker Street, knocking. A kindly-looking elderly woman answered. “Oh! You must be John Watson. Sherlock said you might come by,” she said cheerfully.

Before John could respond, she opened the door wide, welcoming him inside. “I’m Sherlock’s landlady, Mrs. Hudson. Do come in,” she ushered him into her small flat – 221A, by the door. “He’s gone out again, doing goodness knows what. Always dashing off, that one…”

John laughed as she settled him on the sofa, returning with a tray of tea and biscuits. “I just came to return his scarf. He left it at Angelo’s last night.”

“It’s been an age since he’s had someone by the flat. It’s good to see him getting out again, after Victor,” Mrs. Hudson poured the tea.

“I – I’m not dating Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson,” John stammered, blushing furiously.

As though she hadn’t heard him, she continued. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend time with him. Why, if I were 30 years younger…” she said wistfully.

They both jumped when the door in the hallway slammed. “Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock bellowed. “Tea!” He stomped up the stairs without waiting for her response.

“Not your housekeeper!” Mrs. Hudson yelled back, then lowered her voice. “Be a dear, John. Can you take this tray up to him? Give you two a chance to talk,” she winked as she shoved the tray into John’s hands.

“I’m not…” John rolled his eyes, finally giving up arguing with the woman. “Sure, I’ll take it up.” He got to his feet and carried the tray out the door.

He stepped into 221B with the tray of tea and biscuits, to find Sherlock stretched out on the sofa, apparently deep in thought. “Hello, John. Did you bring my scarf?”

“Erm, yeah,” John answered. He set the tray on the coffee table and pulled the neatly folded scarf from his coat pocket.

“Hang it with the Belstaff. Behind the door.”

“Sure,” John said numbly, doing as instructed.

“Interesting. You take orders well. I take it, then, that he was a higher-ranking officer?” Sherlock asked without making eye contact.

John froze in his tracks, staring. “What are you on about now?”

“The man you were last involved with. He was an officer. Of a rank higher than yours.”

“Major Sholto and I –” John sputtered. “I’m NOT gay, if that’s what you’re after.”

Sherlock waved away the comment idly. “Of course not. But when an opportunity presented itself, or rather, HIMself, you were quite a willing participant.”

John just stood there, wide-eyed, rooted where he stood.

Sherlock jumped to his feet, and moved to stand directly in front of John, their faces inches apart. “Molly’s not your type, is she?” Sherlock said, his voice almost a whisper. “Too weak, too submissive. You need someone who can take charge of a situation… take charge of you…” he purred.

“Yes,” came the response, barely audible. John found suddenly that he could not look Sherlock in the eye. Sherlock’s hand lifted his chin, and his eyes were caught in that whirling sea of blue.

With a knowing grin, Sherlock turned away and resumed his seat on the sofa. “You must be tired of the bedsit where you’re staying now,” he said, picking up his cup of tea. “I do have a room available, if you’re interested.” He placed an emphasis on the last word, leaving John no doubt as to what, exactly, he was talking about.

It took John a moment to snap out of his trance. “Um… sure. Sounds good,” he replied, still a bit dazed by Sherlock’s revelations. “How do you do that?” he finally managed to say. “That was amazing.”

“You think so? That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?”

“Piss off.”

John burst out laughing. “Yeah, I can imagine you hear that fairly often.”

A smile crept onto Sherlock’s lips. “Indeed,” he looked up with a grin. “And don’t be concerned about appearances. Outside these walls, you are simply Dr. John Watson, former Army medical officer and current flatmate of Sherlock Holmes.”

John nodded, grabbing a biscuit.

“As for inside these walls, well… I guess we shall see, shan’t we?” Sherlock gave him an almost predatory grin.

John smiled back. “Yes, we will.”


End file.
